Only a man could
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: "Would you like to speak first, Sir," the Austrian asks quietly, eyes on the floor, "or shall I lay down for you and remain quiet?"/"Anneliese," the Hungarian sighs softly and there's something almost feminine to the way he says her name. / Request for Hungary/fem!Austria where fem!Austria thought Hungary was a man, past Spain/fem!Austria, past Turkey/Hungary.


Names used: **fem!Austria** (_Anneliese_), **Hungary** (male: _Dániel_/female: _Erzsébet_), **Spain** (_Antonio_), **Turkey** (_Sadık_), **fem!Greece** (_Hera_), and **Ukraine** (_Irina_).

Author's note: FF request (BunnyHeartMedicine): « Can I have an AusHun yuri fic where fem!Austria and Hungary get married and fem!Austria thinks she's a man because she cross dresses until their wedding nights where Hungary reveals that she's been in love with her ever since they were kids (which is why she thought she was a boy because she didn't know about lesbianism) and then maybe a little foreplay and during that Hungary kinda talks about how she became a lesbian and it was during the Ottoman Empire and sec with turkey was too rough and not in the way she liked and fem!Greece taught her about lesbianism »

To summarize because this was something different request-wise from the norm and I enjoyed that: fem!Austria thinks she's marrying Manguary but actually it's Hungary! And Hungary used to think that if she loved fem!Austria she must be a man but during her stint in the Ottoman Empire she learned that actually she's a girl who likes girls and ain't nothing wrong with that! Let's be real, never enough lady love. Wasn't sure how smutty you wanted this to get so I may (read: will try) go back later and write smuttier Hungary/fem!Austria.

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**Only a man could**

Anneliese sits quietly on the edge of the marriage bed, waiting for her newest husband to return. It wasn't as if the Austrian had never been married before (and Antonio had been good to her in so many ways), but rather that after centuries of knowing the Hungarian nation she felt almost surreal waiting for Dániel to come to her. Wasn't this the little boy she used to war with? Whom she watched at a distance when Dániel lived deep within the Ottoman Empire? And now they were married: it seems even now a strange way for history to unfold.

After what seems like hours the lady's maids escort Dániel in, bowing on the way out; at least the Hungarian looked as uncomfortable as Anneliese felt. When had they last seen each other, properly? Or had a conversation? They'd been kept apart for so long and now suddenly were expected to– well. There were duties, after all, and Anneliese wanted to get them over with.

"Would you like to speak first, Sir," the Austrian asks quietly, eyes on the floor, "or shall I lay down for you and remain quiet?"

"Anneliese," the Hungarian sighs softly and there's something almost feminine to the way he says her name.

"Please, Dániel, I am not a virgin, you do not have to pity me. I know what men want." And Anneliese hated them for it, for only ever seeing her as something beautiful. Not someone smart, someone talented, as something (not even human) beautiful. She misses her mistress from centuries ago, who would hold her when the night was cold, kiss her gently and giggle with her. But the world wasn't made for women like them, and here Anneliese sat with yet another husband she would learn to despise. Even Antonio, who'd understood, who'd let Anneliese have her mistress while he had his male lovers, she had come to hate in the end.

"That's… not…." The long breaks between words is driving the Austrian crazy until a hand falls on her knee, a hand that's too dainty in a way for a man but still rough from wielding weapons. Anneliese looks up to find big green eyes staring at her, pleading silently for something. "Please," Dániel whispers, "forgive me for this."

"For what?" the Austrian demands but falls silent as Dániel takes a step back, slowly removing his loose clothing. When he pulls off what should be the layer before his chemise, Anneliese first sees it. "Is that a… a woman's corset?" Men wore different ones, when they wore them, but this one, the curves, the swells for breasts…. "Dániel?"

"My name isn't Dániel, Anneliese." The Hungarian closes his eyes before whispering, "My name is Erzsébet."

The Austrian stares for several minutes.

"No," Anneliese murmurs, "no, you are Hungary, you are Dániel, you are my husband–"

"I will not deny," the Hungarian interrupts, falling to the ground on bent knees before Anneliese and taking hold of her hands, "that I am Hungary but I am not a man."

"I do not think I have understood."

"Then let me explain." And Dániel– Erzsébet –smiles, stroking the side of the Austrian's face. "When we were children and growing, I– I came to have feelings for you. I came to love you, Anneliese, because you were smart and witty and talented and beautiful, inside and out, and so elegant and everything I never was. But when I confessed these things to an official he insisted that because you were a woman only a man could have feelings for you.

"So I thought maybe, perhaps, I was a man." The Hungarian sighs. "I almost believed the lie myself, until the Ottoman Empire came for me. Sadık had no time for my silly games, stripped me of my masculine garments and dressed me up in feminine things. He was rough," Erzsébet confesses– Anneliese is starting to see the woman she always thought a man, now that the Hungarian was so close she could touch her, really study her and see her. "He was always rough, with all the women, but he liked me in particular and I hated it. I hated the way he filled me with his cold seed, the way he would smugly proclaim that I was his property as if I was something he could claim. He would tell me I was something beautiful." Erzsébet laughs. "Not someone: something. It was as if I wasn't even huma–"

But her word is cut off when Anneliese grabs her, pulling Erzsébet close to bring their mouths together, kissing her forcibly and with all the strength her arms had. For her part the Hungarian wraps Anneliese up in her arms, pulling her to her chest until their corsets pressed together, hands exploring what little exposed skin there was. Anneliese spreads her legs so Erzsébet can move between them, pushing up her skirt and pulling down her stockings.

They gasp for air, Anneliese close to crying for having never understood what she should have seen: the kindred spirit that was always the Hungarian, the truth beneath the deceit. For her part Erzsébet continues the story, clearly needing to finish it, to have the Austrian understand.

"Hera taught me the truth," she whispers. "Hera helped me see who I truly was. And with Hera, and Irina, and the other women I came to accept who I was– who I really was, deep down inside." Erzsébet holds Anneliese's face steady, green eyes locked on near-violet ones. "When I was released no one knew what I had discovered, and so my ministers decided to continue the lie, to tell others I was a man and to dress me as such. But I don't want to be Dániel anymore, Anneliese. I don't want to lie to you anymore." A hand pushes a lock of hair behind the Austrian's ear. "I only want to love you."

With trembling hands Anneliese moves Erzsébet's fingers to her bodice, breathing, "Then love me." There's a clear moment of shock in those green eyes, at being so easily embraced after what Anneliese was sure Erzsébet had convinced herself would be a much longer struggle. "Love me, touch me, make me yours," and they're kissing again, mumbling words that are incoherent and unimportant. Together they strip the Austrian to her chemise and corset as well, pulling off Erzsébet's pants. They fall back on the bed, rolling and trying to outdo one another with flourishes in removing their corsets until those damned items are stripped from their bodies along with their chemises.

The Austrian straddling her hips, Erzsébet reaches out a hand slowly to cup one breast before smoothing her fingers out to run down to Anneliese's core and thigh. "You are so much more than I ever could have imagined," and there's an aw there that makes Anneliese blush, the raw truth in Erzsébet's words.

"No longer do you have to imagine, my love." The Hungarian smiles and the night no longer seems to be just about duties.


End file.
